Seven Shades of Settman
by katiekatebishop
Summary: "After The Incident or The Bad Day as they called it, Thursday has never felt lonelier." Glimpses of the Settmans's lives through random snapshots.
1. The Power of Apology

After _The Incident_ or _The Bad Day_ as they called it, Thursday has never felt lonelier.

Her sisters barely spoke to her anymore. And while being stuck with the six of them, in an apartment with nowhere else to go, would technically make communication inevitable, Thursday quickly realized how difficult it would be to make it up to her sisters when they were constantly pushing her away and outright ignoring her and in their way _punishing_ her for disregarding their well-being for her own personal benefits.

Thursday has tried to make the first step: she initiated the conversation, cracked weird jokes, helped out with the chores but her efforts turned out fruitless which pained her more than she would let know.

But mostly, and which hurt her most, they've all actively been pretending she didn't exist — the same way she pretended not to be aware of the consequences that would follow her breaking the rules and leaving home while one of her sisters was already out.

Grandpa Terrence said they would come around. _It's just sisters's thing_. _Sisters fight all the time_ , he said, _and they always find their way back to each other because that was what families do. Family sticks together no matter what._

And she really wanted to believe him, she tried hard, after each hateful glare and cold shoulder from one of her sisters. She tried to believe him but now it's almost been a week and they were having dinner and they were all speaking to each other while _intentionally_ keeping _her_ out of the discussion despite Grandpa's attempts to include her in the exchange and Thursday felt like crying because she just missed her sisters so much.

"Thursday? What's wrong, honey?" Grandpa asked, noticing the shaking of Thursday's shoulders as big bright tears glistened in her eyes.

Thursday let out a shaky breath and tears started rolling on her pale cheeks as words quickly spilled out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for disobeying and going out. I'm sorry for falling and losing my finger. I'm sorry that Grandpa had to cut all your fingers so we all would match again. I'm sorry for everything. Please, _please_ , stop being mad," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Stop hating me, I won't do it again, I swear. I'll break my skate if you want to."

Six pairs of eyes were looking straight at her, faces colored with sympathy and shame? Terrence didn't have time to dwell on it as an aching surge to protect his granddaughter ran over him. He took her in his arms, letting the little girl sob in his chest, trying in vain to soothe her pain away like he used to do with his own daugther— _their mother_ —a long time ago.

"I don't hate you," Friday spoke and Thursday, still in her grandpa's arms, turned slightly to look at her. "Promise. I don't hate you, Thursday."

"It doesn't even hurt that much anymore," Wednesday added, not sure if it was the right thing to say but it was true. "The Settmans are pretty tough. Grandpa always says so."

And he nodded in agreement, patting Thursday's back.

Tuesday and Sunday offered her a small, reassuring smile and Thursday took it as a good sign and smiled back.

"I don't hate you either, T. I did at first, for real, because when Grandpa cut my finger off that hurt like hell—

"— _Saturday,_ " he sighed. "What did I say about this kind of language?" he reprimanded.

"But Grandpa the girls at the dance practice always—," she started whining, trying to defend herself but the glare coming from him made her swallow and stop. She thought of her next words wisely. "Sorry. It hurt a _lot_ —" she emphasized the words and when she received an approving look from him, she continued. "But it's fine now. I'm not mad anymore. It was Monday's idea to ignore you anyway."

Realizing what she just said Saturday immediately turned red and stared down at her plate. Terrence's smile quickly dropped and his eyes searched for his granddaughters's but they were all avoiding his gaze.

Finally his eyes set on Monday, who had slouched in her chair and now only her head was visible above the table. "Monday? What is Saturday talking about?"

She shrugged, her eyes darting around. "Dunno."

He sighed. This wasn't going well. "What did I say about lying? No lies and no secrets in this household," he repeated once more. "You all know the rules."

"But _you_ also said _no going out_ and _she_ —," Monday's fury eyes and finger pointed at Thursday, who unconsciously took a step back, pressing herself more into her Grandpa. "— _didn't_ listen. She broke the rules! She hurt _us_ —hurt _me_. And I wanted to hurt her back."

If Terrence was taken aback by the sudden outburst, by the boiling fury from Monday, he didn't let it show.

"This is _not_ okay, Monday. I'm the adult here and I'm the one in charge of punishing those who misbehave which I have done with Thursday," He put a gentle hand on Thursday's shoulder. "You had no right to take the matter into your hands and turn your sisters against Thursday. I'm very disappointed in you all," he told them and the girls didn't dare look up or make a sound, shame overwhelming them. "And I'm especially disappointed in _you_ , Monday. You're supposed to set the example."

Her grandpa's words sank in and Monday hiccuped. Dissapointing her Grandpa wasn't what she aimed for. Her lips trembled a little and she wanted to be anywhere but here at this moment.

"I'm sorry Grandpa."

"I'm not the one who you should be apologizing to."

She blinked rapidly as angry tears began to appear. She loved all her sisters and she loved Thursday very much—for many reasons. She also admired her younger sister because Thursday always looked _tough_ and _fierce_ , with her back straight and her chin up, _confidence_ burning in her eyes and Monday secretly wished she was more like that, like _her,_ but then _Thursday_ had to _mess up_ and _hurt them all_. And she was supposed to protect them all—she was the _oldest_ after all, and how could she do that if they all started to disregard the safety measures, break the rules and hurt each other in the process?

Reluctantly, Monday sat up straight on her chair, her thumb softly caressing over the missing part of her left index finger.

"M'Sorry, Thursday," she mumbled, eyes meeting her sisters's for the first time tonight.

"It's okay, Moon," Thursday said using her nickname for Monday. "I'm sorry too," and she meant it.

And she wished she could change things, she wished she hadn't gotten herself and her sisters hurt but it was too late now. And she learned her lesson the _hard_ way. _Never_ again, she'll break the rules.

"I know that," Monday said, wiping the tears away. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less, you know."

"I know," Thursday replied, biting her lips. "But I'll apologize and make it up to you until you forgive me, okay?"

The silence following Thursday's request was insufferable but finally Monday whispered a soft "okay" and she even cracked a smile. She was tired of being angry at Thursday in all honesty.

Thursday ran around the table and hugged her sister tight. Monday felt into the embrace and she already knew she would forgive her sister very soon.

* * *

 _xxxx_

 _Sorry for any mistakes/typos, English isn't my first language._


	2. The Fatal Flaw

_When he reads to them, he always makes wild, animated gestures, with his face serious, his eyes big and focused on them all and Monday imagines her Grandpa performing on a stage, making people smile and laugh and she can't help but let her lips curl up._

 _Tonight the story is about mythology, about wolves and twins and Monday doesn't understand why Tuesday and Sunday love mythology so much. She never get them—her sisters and mythology—, not entirely and she hates that._

 _But soon her smile drops, and fear grasps her throat, squeezes her heart._

Romulus killed Remus _, Grandpa tells them, eyes locking with each of them, piercing them, judging their reactions._ The twin killed the other twin.

 _They all gasp, looking at each other and a frown appears on Monday's forehead. Why would he kill his brother—his twin? They were family. Family is forever and family protects each other. That's how it's supposed to be, that's how it must be. That's what Grandpa keeps saying._

" _I don't get it," Monday says, tone frustrated, arms crossed on her chest. "You can't kill family. Family is to be protected. That story doesn't make sense."_

 _He smiles at the naivety behind Monday's brown eyes._

" _Someday you will, Monday. Someday you will."_

* * *

Monday loved them.

She was _certain_ of that. She _remembered_ that.

There was a time when she felt like all she needed was food, water and her sisters to survive in this ugly world.

Then Adrian walked into her life, breath of fresh air swooping her off her feet and proved her wrong.

* * *

It's funny how they've grown slowly but steadily—the anger, the resentment, the hatred—they've grown, rooted deep inside her now. They crawled under her skin, bit her heart open and slip into it to stain it all.

She couldn't precisely pinpoint the moment when it all changed.

She couldn't recall when it stopped being _them_ all— _together_ — _against_ the world. She couldn't remember when she started to think of _them_ as the _afterbirth_ that would ruin her life in the long run instead of as _her family_ she swore she would protect against anything, come hell or high water. She couldn't think back to that crucial point in time when her ressent against _them_ —for _being_ as much Karen Settman as she was, for having as much _claim on_ Karen Settman as she did—began.

All she knew was whenever Adrian's lips were on hers, she always felt good, warm as if the sun has set down in her belly. The sensation of safety, the feeling of love were so intense and intoxicating that she wanted _it_ all for _herself_.

She was done sharing.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon and she was at Adrian's apartment.

He kept calling her "Karen", murmuring sweet things in her ear, doing the dirty, _kinky_ , things she loved so dearly and when his eyes, big and bright, dark orbs full of love, stared down at her like she was his Karen— _the one and only Karen_ —she felt breathless.

Then when he kissed the daylights out of her and told her he loved her and he promised he would take her out of Europe someday where they would get married and _hopefully_ have a life outside of those damn walls, _together_ , she sobbed a little and hid in his chest, holding him tight until it was time to abandon Karen Settman once again and become just Monday once more.

* * *

 _When the sisters were teenagers, stupid and carefree, they had had a debate about the seven deadly sins (when they were even tinier and more naive, they had discussed about the Snow White's seven dwarves) and had tried to put their names on the sin they could identify the most with._

 _Saturday had shouted Sloth for Wednesday and Tuesday had kicked her off the couch, coughing Lust in between two laughs pointing at Saturday's laying form on the floor. Thursday had auto-claimed her as Wrath and nobody had argued. Friday had shyly said Gluttony would go for Tuesday, and when she'd tried to protest Sunday had argued that having a sweet tooth for pot brownies still counted as gluttony and Tuesday had pouted but hadn't added anything._

 _Then it was down to_ Pride _,_ Envy _,_ Greed _and Monday, Friday and Sunday and none of those hadn't seemed to fit them. Not really._

 _So Thursday, chin high, eyes locked on Monday's and thumb playing with her missing finger had blurted out, "Monday is definitely Greed."_

 _Saturday had shrugged, thinking it over. "I thought she might be Pride?"_

 _"Friday is definitely not Pride or Envy or Greed when you think about," Wednesday had pointed out._

 _And they all had agreed._

 _"Friday is like perfect. Gee," Saturday had asked, her foot coming up to tickle Friday's side, who had tried in vain to push Saturday's foot away. "How do you do it, Fri?"_

 _Monday had said nothing and the debate had gone on forever, names and sins changing over and over._

 _But it will be later, years too late that they found out, that they figured out that they had been wrong about Monday from the beginning._

 _Monday was Lust and Envy along. But even her hadn't known back then._

* * *

"Did you get them?"

Barely had Monday closed the door behind her when Thursday walked up to her, tone pressing, palm flat open like she was waiting for Monday to hand her something.

 _What the—_

"Did you get them, Monday?" Thursday asked again and she didn't even try to hide her irritation. _Great. Not even one minute back in, and we're gonna fight already._

"Move, Thursday," Monday snapped, trying to pass by her sister but Thursday was having none of it.

"Cut the crap, Monday! Give me the meds," Thursday ordered her and Monday's brain did a shortcut.

The meds. _Sunday's meds_. Sunday was sick this morning when she left for work this morning. She promised she would come home early and bring the meds home for Sunday. But she forgot.

 _Shit_.

 _Shit._

 _Shit_.

"Uh, it slipped out of my mind," she admitted.

Monday's eyes were fixed on Thursday the entire time so she definitely noticed when her sister's white face changed from disbelief to disappointment to hot anger. She silently wondered if Thursday's face could get any redder.

" _It slipped out of your mind_?" Thursday repeated, venom and incredulity staining her tone. "I can't fucking believe this. Are you fucking serious?" Fury was boiling behind her eyes. " _You_ said you'd leave work early and get the things she needed. But instead you came back hours late and without the meds! What the fuck is your problem? Do you care so little about her well-being so it's just slipped your mind?"

Monday's mouth was agap, guilt bitting the tips of her fingers, making her blood cold. _Okay, I deserved that. I did promise and then forgot about Sunday_.

Monday wanted to defend herself: she did leave work early and she remembered, on her way to Adrian's, making a mental note to pass by the pharmacy before going back home.

However, with him, time always flew, blinding in the blur and invisible space and he always managed to make her forget about her priorities and responsibilities.

 _Love was dangerous._ She's been learning that.

Monday tried hard to pretend she didn't care. She will _abandon_ them, she will _ruin_ them, so getting detached should be a good idea, a good beginning to the end of their story _togethe_ r—of _their_ family.

Yet, she still felt the urge to apologise, to ease the growing tension in the loft, in _their_ home. It was still theirs _to them_ , not so much _to her_ but they didn't know that. Not yet.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Screw your fucking apologies," Thursday spat.

She felt so angry she wanted to put her hands around Monday's neck and squeeze it till she turned purple. Monday's selfishness has been getting on her nerves too much lately.

"Would you two calm down? All this yelling is gonna wake her up," Tuesday said, stepping into the two women to diffuse the bomb that was about to explode and gently tried to lead Thursday away from Monday.

"Too late," Saturday spoke as she opened the door of the bedroom.

Even from where they were, they could see Sunday's wide, reddish eyes blinking at them, hand on her forehead, massaging the aching pain away. Monday barely glanced at Thursday as she stalked towards the bedroom to check on Sunday.

She was buried under enormous blankets but Monday could still feel the heat radiating off Sunday. With the pale complexion and her chapped lips, Sunday looked tiny and younger, like someone anyone would want to protect and nobody would try to hurt.

They were all so alike, so similar, that sometimes Monday forgot that they were _all,_ each of them, _her little sisters_ , and that Sunday was the _youngest_ of them all. The _baby_ of the family.

Monday took her hand. It was ice cold. "Hey, Sis."

"Hey, you," Sunday's raspy voice was an indication that even sick she wouldn't take honey to ease her sore throat. _Stubborn_.

"Sorry about the yelling," Monday lamely offered.

But Sunday cracked a smile.

"A day without a clash between you and T. is a day wasted," she joked, then coughed, once, twice, three times, and when it was over, Sunday had tears in her eyes, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. "Being sick sucks big time."

"I'm sorry about the meds."

"S'alright," Sunday was close to falling asleep.

"I'm getting them, now. The pharmacy should still be open, I'll be quick," she said, pushing the hair off Sunday's burning forehead. "I promise."

"Kay," Sunday whispered and she was fast asleep before Monday left the room.

"Hope you won't get amnesia on your way there."

Thursday's remark was rude and made to hurt and Monday was used to them, so she let it go. But then, she heard Saturday's chuckle and Monday's hot temper ultimately rose, burning her skin all the way up and down.

"Fuck you, Thursday," she shot back. "And Saturday make yourself useful and prepare some tea for Sunday. I'll be right back."

Monday slammed the door behind her before another fight could break out into the apartment. Wednesday sighed, looking at Friday who gave a sympathetic smile. There will never be day when Thursday, Monday and Saturday don't throw jabs at each other.

* * *

Later at night, when the dinner went as smoothly as it could, after some more throwing up from Sunday, and once everybody was sleeping deeply, Monday laid wide awake beside Sunday's exhausted form.

With Sunday's hand, less cold now, tight in hers, Monday was certain that it was Sunday she would miss the most when she left.

* * *

Weeks later, on a Thursday morning, she was re-reading Remus and Romulus story.

She understood Romulus's better now.

* * *

"You ever wished you had a sibling?"

The question was so random that it took Adrian off guard.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because," he simply reply.

Monday arched her eyebrow and he remained silent for a while. "Because in the end, we would have to give up on each other. It would just hurt to say goodbye."

Adrian's words sounded so true, so painfully true, and the fault already open in Monday's heart grew bigger, her aching heart bled some more, and soon all the pieces were all over the place, shattered and dispatched forever.

But it was okay. Adrian would patch her back up. Not Sunday, not Tuesday, just Adrian.

That was what she wanted most.

She was sure of that.

* * *

"I think I get it now," she said in the dead silence of the room, sheets cold under her naked body, her fingers tracing random patterns on his back.

"What?"

Adrian was confused, having no clue what she was referring to.

"My grandfather, he used to read mythology to me. I've never truly understood the story of _Remus and Romulus_ ," she explained, and she leant in to kiss him. Then she bit his lip and smirked when he hissed. "But I get it now."

"I thought it was about siblings."

She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his shoulder.

"It's about _hubris_."

* * *

 _xxxx_

 _I love Monday. I don't see her as evil even if what she did was a_ necessary evil _somehow. I'm still not certain which reason prevails on the other: her desire to be the sole Karen Settman or her will to protect her unborn children? One can be true, the one false? It's up to debate and interpretation._

 _Also I like to think if she had a favorite, it would have been Sunday because she was the youngest, the baby, her opposite somehow._

 _Share your thoughts with me in a review._

 _PS: I'll proof-read later. Besos._


	3. The Taste of The Betrayal

When Monday went missing, they all dealt with it differently.

Friday stayed glued to the computer, Wednesday hit the punching-bag over and over until her fingers became red and sore, Thursday lurked near the windows waiting for their sister to pop back out of thin air, Saturday had the music so loud and deafining in her ears as if the foreign sound would shield her from the upcoming bad news and Sunday attempted, in vain, to diffuse the tension, to drown the worry with hot water, tea leaves and honey.

Tuesday stared at her cup for a very long time, the brewage getting colder and colder by the minutes as her eyes kept following the movements of the tea leaves. She thought about her Grandpa, about his stories and opinions on tasseomancy. To him tasseomancy was nothing more than absolute nonsense but he had humored them, and showed them how to see "good" and "bad" forms and symbols at the bottom of their cups. Now, Tuesday swore she could see pain, suffering, and death all over the inside of her cup, and she cursed, dropped the already-chipped mug and run to the bathroom to get an aspirin.

Later that night, that same, horrible night, fragile, nervous little Tuesday vomited the entirety of her stomach and hid in the bathroom till everything became alright again. _It didn't._

She cried until there was no more tear and her throat felt raspy. In between two breakdowns she smoked cigarettes and by the time the sun rose, the packet was near empty.

It was Tuesday now. _Her day_. And she didn't want to go out.

She was scared shitless and the pot brownie she was eating was cheap and tasted like shit, doing nothing to ease her worry. Or maybe the fear has overtaken her body, wrecking the senses and marks.

"I don't want to go."

"I know. But you need to find out what happened to Monday, okay? We need to help her. She would do it for us."

Tuesday didn't tell Sunday that she doubted that Monday would do the same for them because she was stressed, and terrified, and she wouldn't mean any of the world that came out of her mouth. Besides, she didn't want to hurt Sunday's feelings. Today was not the day for that.

On her way to the Bank, once the weed effect was wearing off, Tuesday tried to remember the last words she said to Monday.

She couldn't.

* * *

 _Tuesday can't sleep because her hand hurts too much. She swears that every breath she takes, she can feel the blood rushing, pounding right where her missing finger used to be._

" _Tuesday?" she hears a soft voice saying. "Are you sleeping?"_

 _She turns her head towards Monday. "No."_

 _Her sister wets her lips before asking. "Can I sleep with you?"_

 _Monday usually sleeps alone. She's the oldest she says, she gets to have a bed for herself, she has said many times. But when she shares a bed or secrets at nights, it's always with Sunday. Never with any of the girls. Because Sunday is her favourite. She's not jealous or envious. She's just stating facts._

" _Okay," Tuesday replies as she moves on the other to let Monday slid in the bed next to her._

 _It's weird to have Monday in her bed because she's really still; she doesn't try to hog the covers like Saturday or doesn't move her feet continously like Wednesday._ _The orange glow from the spotlight outside the building makes Monday looks tiny and strange and foreign. And Tuesday wonders if she looks like that too._

 _Monday looks at her like she's the weirdest thing she's ever laid eyes on._

 _"You fainted."_

 _She did. Tuesday remembers. It wasn't the pain that made her black out. No, it's the blood. Pure and simple. Red, hot liquid, fresh out of her hand left her weak and unsteady. And Grandpa had barely time to finish the bandage that she had felt the blood rush to her head, buzz in her ears and then her body had hit the floor, hard and fast._

" _Are you okay now?"_

 _Tuesday's shaking fingers gently caress the bump behind her head. "I'm okay now."_

 _Monday nods, relieved and Tuesday appreciates the feeling. She allows herself to think that, even if they don't talk much because they're not each other's favourite sister, Monday loves her though just as she loves Monday though._

" _You'll help me, Tuesday?" she asks, suddenly, and her voice sounds scared. "You'll help me, right?"_

 _A child shouldn't sound so terrified. Monday has an haunting look on her face and Tuesday feels something dreadful, something awful dancing around the bed, dancing in her stomach. Tuesday wants to run and call Grandpa because she's certain he is to blame for that, but he is also the adult, and knows how to deal with fear._

 _Tuesday doesn't think she's old enough, brave enough to face fear._

"Wednesday was so brave. She didn't yell or cry when Grandpa did it. She just gritted her eyes and then it was over. He was very proud," _that was what Friday told her when she woke up, when she asked if anyone else had fainted._

 _So Tuesday ignores the fear, hides it in a corner of her mind and locks it away. She directly looks Monday in the eyes._

" _Help you with what?" she asks, her voice certainly more steady than how she is feeling._

 _Monday grabs her arm, and squeeze it, not too hard but hard enough for Tuesday to feel her small fingers dig into her skin which makes her frown because Monday is using the bad hand—the one with the missing finger—and it must be hurting her because Tuesday isn't doing anything with her bad hand and yet it hurts immensely._

" _Protect you all," Monday breathes out and she lets go of the arm to move closer, seeking comfort in the warmth of her first little sister. "You'll help me, right? I don't think I can do it all alone. You're the second oldest. So we'll be like a team, won't we? You and me. We'll help each other, okay?"_

 _Tuesday doesn't voice the thoughts that are swimming in her head because she knows it would hurt Monday's feelings. She doesn't like hurting her sisters's feelings, so she tends to avoid doing it. That's what she doesn't take side when a fight breaks out in the loft._

 _She doesn't tell Monday that she doesn't think they would make a good team because they just don't match. She doesn't tell Monday that they all should protect each other, that it is a teamwork between them all—the seven of them—and not just between the two of them. She doesn't tell Monday that her skin is too cold and that must mean that she's cold inside out._ _Maybe she has a cold heart, icy and unbreakable, but Tuesday doesn't say._

 _All she says is what Monday wants to hear, "Okay, I'll help you," then Tuesday adds. "Because they need us."_

 _Monday nods._

 _And Tuesday smiles._

* * *

When Cayman's men grabbed her and held her face up and _tight_ , leaving bruises all over her, Tuesday swore she did not feel any pain.

Panic, adrenaline, fear left her plain cold, empty and shaking all over. So she hid in that safe corner of her mind, where nothing could hurt her, where she called herself _Terry_ after her Grandpa because she missed him awfully and the mere idea of him helped her as much it hurt her.

Something kicked in, numbing everything out. A defense mechanism Friday would say, Tuesday thought.

Tuesday wanted to scream, to fight back, but she sit still, held her breath and prayed for it to stop soon. She wanted to go home, but there will no more home to go, no more sisters to wait for her. In the safety of her mind, she felt _better_ yet _powerless_ and maybe she should have listened to Wednesday, maybe she should have let her sister teach her more self-defense moves.

But it was too late now.

And it didn't hurt anyway.

She cried, yes, but not from pain.

Tuesday cried because, before the man cut her open and took out _what belonged to her_ , she put two and two together and ultimately, it was the betrayal that pierced her heart in two—shattering the precious thing and now it rested cracked and opened forever.

There was blood, hot and wet, sliding down her pale face, her own screaming voice so foreign to her ears, and it was the horrible realisation that her sisters will probably go through the same suffering (or far worse) that left her breathless.

And so she passed out.

* * *

" _Oh god, Tuesday, not this again!" Monday says as she walks into the bathroom, noticing her sister on the floor, looking sick and awful._

 _Monday sighs, loudly to express her annoyance and disappointment. Nonetheless, she quickly grabs a glass and fill it with water, putting it right next to Tuesday before stepping into the shower._

 _"You really need to stop with the drugs. It's bad for your health and it's ruining Karen Settman's complexion. I can't have that."_

 _Tuesday has her head in the toilet, sweat sparkling on her forehead as she waits for the heaving of her stomach to cease. She is too tired to reply or to move, so she stays right there, even when she hears the shower running. There's no privacy in this place anyway and it's not like anyone cares either way._

" _You need to get your shit together."_

 _Tuesday doesn't know if it was her voice that she heard, or if it was Monday's but it doesn't matter because in the end, they're all the same, one and only, and she really needs to get herself sort out, at least for her sisters' sake._

 _Tuesday leans her head against the wall as she watches her sister preparing herself, becoming Karen Settman once again. Slowly. Meticulously. Dark colour on her cils, red shade on her lips, and then all at once, Monday is gone and Karen stands in front of the mirror, looking all mighty and fierce and unapologetic._

 _Monday's eyes stare at her own reflection, light orbs searching for something that only Monday could see._

 _It's always in her drug-induced state that Tuesday notices that Monday is different from the rest of them._

* * *

When Tuesday woke up startled, pain radiating all over her face, betrayal tasting metallic and bitter on her chapped lips. She sat up quickly and moved backwards awkwardly fast until her back hit the hard, cold, white wall behind her.

She took deep breaths and made weak attempts to calm down her panic, to swallow down the tears that were threatening to break through.

Tuesday refused to sleep. She didn't allow herself to fall into unconsciousness again. She forced herself to remain awake and alert.

During the long hours of her captivity, her mind kept drifting towards her sisters. She was certain that she would never see them again. Her mind was far too gone, too much in shambles for her to imagine any outcome where they would all get out of this ordeal physically, emotionally and mentally unscathed. Deeply, all she hoped was for her sisters to have quick and painless deaths.

The hours dragged on, allowing the loneliness to set in deep in the broken parts of Tuesday's heart. She had never felt more alone in the world and the exhaustion was becoming utterly unbearable, getting the best of her.

She wanted death to come for her too.

* * *

 _"Why do you always do that?"_

 _The question makes Monday jump. Tuesday realises that she has been so silent, so invisible the entire time that Monday had forgotten she was right there, in the bathroom. They've spent so many hours, so many years out there in the real world pretending they had no siblings that maybe Monday has stopped pretending, maybe she considers herself to be an only-child. It's a terrible, unsettling thought that Tuesday refuses to dwell on._

 _"Do what?"_

 _"Look at yourself in the mirror?" she presses on. "You always take more time than the rest of us does to get ready and you do because you lose time looking at your own reflection. What's the point of wasting your time looking at yourself? You look just like the rest of us."_

 _Tuesday's tone has an edge that Monday can't recognise, and if Monday is surprised by the bitterness, the sudden verbal attack from Tuesday, she doesn't show it. She supposes that it's the drugs pumping in her veins that make her sound so hostile at her for some reason._

 _Monday opens her mouth to reply but Saturday walks in, unaware of the tension between the two oldest sisters._

 _"Monday is the narcissistic one. I've always said it," Saturday replies, sarcastically. "Right, Monday? Aren't you the pretty little Daffodil?"_

 _Monday bites her tongue and breathes through her nose, not in the mood for a fight so early in the morning and she doesn't have time anyway._

 _"Get Tuesday something hot to drink. I'm off to work. See you later."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye."_

 _Monday avoids Tuesday's eyes when she turns to leave but she felt them on her very back until she is out of sight._

 _Saturday's fingers are gentle, caring, warm on her face and Tuesday really likes how nice she smells. She always smells good and always looks pretty even when she says she doesn't. Saturday will always be the prettiest of them all._

 _"Girl, you really need to slow down on the drugs, okay? We still need you around. You gotta take better care of yourself, alright?" Saturday says, her tone soft but commanding._

 _Tuesday nods, of course she does. "Alright."_

 _And Tuesday can help but smile because while Monday is always all about I and me (_ "—it's ruining Karen Settman's complexion. I can't have that," _), the rest of them is all about we and us (_ "We still need you around. You gotta take better care of yourself," _) and she loves them for that._

 _So Tuesday hugs Saturday, her arms are weak and she's still shaking a bit but Saturday snorts and hugs her tight in return. "I love you too, sis."_

* * *

 _She sold us out._

Those were the words that kept repeating in Tuesday's head. Over and over. Her head was pounding, the left side of her face was bright red, dried blood coloring her cheek, and her left eye, gone forever. And it almost felt like losing a finger all over again but not quite much because this time, _this time_ was thousands times worse because Thursday didn't do it on purpose— _Monday did_.

 _She sold us out._

Monday told them about the retinal imprint, about the secret switch in the library, about the hidden place behind the mirror. She told them everything so they would have no chance at fighting, at surviving. Monday threw them under the bus, right into Cayman and her men's evil claws.

Tuesday lost her eye, her family and her will to live because of Karen fucking Settman.

A direct knife, scalding and sharp in the middle of their backs would have hurt less and that was how Tuesday would have put an end to the story of Karen if she could.

* * *

 _Tuesday doesn't voice her opinion, doesn't act like she figures it all out. She doesn't say that she's found Monday's biggest, dirtiest secret._

 _Tuesday knows Monday only stares at her reflection hoping to find something that would make her different from her sisters, something that would make her stand out, shine brighter._

 _Something that would make her special._

 _Tuesday knows without doubt that Monday thinks she's the proper Karen Settman— the perfect one, the only one—but she doesn't say anything because the others wouldn't believe her. She has the tendency of babbling weird things when she's high._

 _They've called her the_ stressed _one, the_ anxious _one. But in the end, she had always been the_ most observant _one. By remaining silent, watching avidly, she figures out secrets and faults._

 _Monday had always been on one team and it was_ her own _, where only_ she _stood proudly, on top and_ alone _._

* * *

She didn't eat or drink what they gave her. She was adamantly sure that all her sisters were dead by now and she wished to follow suit. No point of living, not point of trying to survive if they weren't all together. She couldn't go through the future days of the future weeks all by herself.

She couldn't do it all alone. _She had known back then._

* * *

 _Grandpa dies so suddenly and it's Tuesday who takes it the hardest._

 _For the next three weeks, she's unable to leave the house. She is diving, crashing into a depressive state where her sisters aren't capable of reaching out to her, where they're incapable of catching her before it's too late._ _Tuesday sleeps too much, smokes too much, and she's losing so much weight that Saturday and Friday worry that she might fall down one day and not get up ever again._

 _Sunday treats Tuesday as if she is a broken child, gives her food and braids her hair, and Sunday's kindness, void of judgment and discontent, annoys Monday beyond comprehension. And when Saturday points out that it is because Monday is jealous that Sunday prefers someone else over her, Monday almost loses it and nearly hits Saturday with the first shoe that her hand finds._

 _The sight of the limp, lifeless form of her sister on the bed drives Monday completely nuts. Thursday's high chin and furious eyes dare her to say something, anything that would upset Tuesday even more, nonetheless Monday remains utterly and surprisingly quiet about it._

 _In the end, it's Wednesday that takes Tuesday out of her gloomy mindset. It's Wednesday that makes her speak again. Tuesday puts the gloves on and each punch is punctuated by a revelation from Tuesday. Tuesday's punches become harder, faster but Wednesday doesn't let go of the bag._

"When you die, when you all die in my dreams, I'm all alone and I feel—I feel hollow. I just can't stand it _," she loses her breath and Wednesday knows it's not from exercising. So she doesn't push, waits for Tuesday to let it out at her own pace. "If something were to happen to any of you or,_ worse _, to you all, I would never recover from it. It would kill me, Wen. It would."_

 _Tuesday tells Wednesday everything, she relates every single one of her nightmares, relives them and by the time she's done, her face is wet with sweat and tears._

 _"I'll come for you," Wednesday says and she gently nudges her shoulder to get her to raise her head to look at her. Wednesday doesn't hug, doesn't kiss the pain away to comfort someone but Wednesday has a strong, reassuring aura that makes up for everything else. "If something happens to you, I'll come for you. We all will," Then Wednesday purposely speaks louder so her voice would carry through. "Even Saturday in her stupid high pink heels."_

 _"I heard that, Wednesday! Stop disrespecting my shoes," shouts Saturday from the other room and that makes Tuesday laughs for the first time in weeks and slowly, she feels her emptiness, her hollow crawling out of her being._ _She feels better and stronger in a way._

 _Tuesday lets out a breath. "And what if it's you? What if something happens to you?"_

 _"Oh well, I trust you to come and save me," Wednesday jokes but Tuesday can read her. Wednesday means it. "Teamwork, huh? We help each other. Always. That's what family does."_

* * *

Once the shock has passed, and Monday's betrayal started dancing before her eyes— _eye—_ and whispered nothing but cruel things in her ears, Tuesday pondered over asking Cayman about Monday's whereabouts.

She wanted Monday to come here, she wanted Monday to _look_ at _her_ and at _the missing part of her face_. She wanted Monday to watch the disgust and disdain written all over _a face_ that used to look just like _hers_.

She wanted Monday to explain how she could have done that to them, how she could have been so heartless and selfish. She wanted Monday to see how she had destroyed all their lives so she could claim to be the sole Karen Settman.

Mostly, she needed to have Monday in the same room _as her_ , _near her_ so she could squeeze Monday's neck until the air could no longer circulate, until the lights died out in her eyes, until Monday was as dead as she felt.

* * *

" _We'll live together forever—"_

"— _and even when we're all dead."_

" _We'll go and haunt people—"_

"— _That's gross and mean and awful, Saturday."_

" _But we will. We can't never not be together. It would be wrong."_

" _We shall be together forever. Nobody can take us apart."_

 _They all hold onto each other and fall asleep all together and the picture that their Grandpa took on that day will be lost among the tons of photographs Friday will gather and save over the years._

 _Years later, it's that precise day that Tuesday will remember. It's Monday's unusual warmth, sincere eyes and genuine laugh that will make the betrayal brutal and unforgivable to Tuesday._

* * *

Tuesday's will to die came and went. Her will to finish her sister resisted, burning her mind and spirit.

She had imagined different ways to kill Monday. She had. The last three days at the hands of Cayman seemed to have stained something in her, broke her somehow. This living nightmare had changed her for the worst. She has been feeling a deep, strong, hot anger at the pit of her stomach and all she wanted was for Monday to feel her pain, to feel her sorrow.

She had wanted Monday to cry for forgiveness and beg for mercy. She had wanted Monday's blood on her hands.

But now, _now_ , Monday was barely alive, her eyes unfocused and lost, her breath blocked in her throat as if she was drowning in her own blood and suddenly Tuesday regrets everything, and she silently asks, prays, _begs_ , — _stay alive, stay alive, stay alive._

But Monday stopped caring a long time ago, she stopped breathing a few seconds ago and Thursday looked completely destroyed, shattered from the inside and Tuesday couldn't recognize the strong and fierce Thursday she used to lean onto to keep her upright and push her towards the path of recovery when their Grandpa died.

Adrian was crying as though he loved Monday more than _they did_ and that was so wrong on so many levels because he _couldn't_ possibly have loved Monday more than they had, he couldn't have known her like they had (or so they thought they knew her). He didn't see Monday grow, he didn't live with her, he didn't share her mood swings and her fights, he didn't witness her happy laughs and her angry cries. He shouldn't grieve her like they were doing but she kept her mouth shut because she wasn't one to hurt people's feelings.

Tuesday fell onto her knees, and it was with a trembling hand she grabbed at Monday's. It was all heavy and cold and Tuesday nearly chocked out of happiness, because Monday always had a icy skin. Her skin was cold because that was how Monday had always been, cold and empty. It wasn't because she was dead. Because she wasn't—couldn't be. Monday was way too stubborn to die, right?

But when her head came to rest against Monday's unmoving chest, when she didn't feel or heart the constant and steady _thump-thump-thump_ of her sister's heart, Tuesday broke, tears falling freely onto her dead sister.

"Come back, asshole. We have unfinished business. _Come back_. You can't die. That's the easy way out. You can't fucking die," she says, clenching her teeth. Everything hurt; speaking, breathing, living. She wanted it all to end. "I hate you, Monday. I hate you so much. Being pregnant doesn't excuse what you did and I will _never_ forgive you, you hear me? _Never,_ " Tuesday's sobs wrecked her entire body and her arms held Monday's lifeless body, as if she was trying to squeeze the life back into her sister. " _I hate you_."

* * *

"You'll help me, right?" Thursday asked, her eyes staring at the ceiling. "Taking care of Monday's kids?"

They were lying in Saturday's bed and it still smelled very much like her. It helped Tuesday breathe better during the long nights after her nightmares or during the longer days when she was too tired, too sad, too depressed to leave it.

Every day, she could almost sense the auras of her others sisters, lingering around the loft like welcoming ghosts. She could almost see them in Sunday's tidy books, Friday's favorite chair, Wednesday's ugly trainers, Saturday's bright nail polish, or Monday's stained coffee mugs. They were like glimpses of clarity, of lost happiness in her shaken and unfixable world. It all made the pain oppressive and manageable.

She missed them all horribly. She felt tremendously hollow and now, it was only Thursday to prevent her from losing the remains pieces of herself.

"Of course, I will," Tuesday promised, her head resting in the safety of her last sister's neck. "They're innocent."

 _Monday wasn't._

* * *

xxxx

 _I must admit I forgot about this story, and I rewatched the movie today and inspiration struck once more._

 _I love Tuesday because she's all of us; the one who stresses out about everything and needs something to tune out that stress: hers is pot brownies. How cute. On a more serious note, both sisters can't be okay with what Monday did. It's unrealistic, fam. One of them has to be mad at Monday._

 _Anyway, Tuesday needs therapy. She is a fragile little gem and I want to hug her._

 _I also love Daffodils and reviews. So thank you for reading, and reviewing. I enjoy reading your thoughts and opinions._

 _Ps: I suck at English but I will edit everything and fix the typos. Promise._


End file.
